A Death Note Advent Calendar
by 0-Kelly-0
Summary: A Death Note style celebration during the month of December, with a collection of oneshots and drabbles updated daily. Fluff, smut, and Christmas cheer! Matt/Mello
1. Chapter 1

_Word Count: 750_  
><em>Rating: T<em>

* * *

><p>I left the package on his desk, because I knew that would be the fastest way for him to find it. I could have left it in the bathroom or something, but that seems a little…unsanitary, you know? It's not anything fancy, don't get all excited. I wrapped the thing with Tuesday's newspaper; images of a fire downtown and the latest stock prices are decorations. I think it looks pretty damn good, all things considered.<p>

When he finds it I'm in the kitchen making myself breakfast. All perishable food items seem to be growing things in the fridge, so I end up putting beer on top of my cereal and hoping for the best. I've probably eaten worse.

Just as I'm shoveling a spoonful of sugar and alcohol into my mouth, he yells from the other room, "Don't leave your shit on my desk Matt!"

I swallow — with some effort, because it tastes a lot worse than I thought it would — before answering, "It's for you, idiot!" and I continue to eat.

There's silence in the other room for a good minute before I hear the ripping of paper. I smile to myself; I knew he wouldn't be able to resist for long.

I only get another bite halfway to my mouth before he's stomped into the kitchen, waving the white book in my face. "What the hell is this?" he demands.

"Your Christmas present," I say, unperturbed.

"It's only December 7," he says it like I'm an idiot.

"Yeah, so?"

"So you're doing it wrong! And what the hell is this anyways? You know I hate jokes."

I cough a little to hide my smile, setting my half eaten bowl of mystery breakfast surprise on the counter. "It's a Life Note."

The glare he sends me would make lesser men cry. I think I'm just used to his deadly looks after all this time. "Not. Funny," He enunciates slowly, as if I might just be stupid.

I roll my eyes, plucking the book from his hands. It's off-white in color, the cover soft and easily bent back. I spent at least an hour writing 'Life Note' on the front in black ink. I don't have very good handwriting, and I wanted to make it look good, so I spent most of that time looking up calligraphy pictures online. It didn't help all that much.

I open the book to the first page, where I had added several entries. In handwriting that I spent much less time on it says, 'Mello – 67 years old. A bamf.' Underneath that I wrote, 'Matt – 65 years old. Irrelevant inventor, code monkey and gamer.'

I let him read it, secretly enjoying the mild curiosity on his face. "What is this even for?" If I know him — which I do — then he meant to sound exacerbated, but didn't quite manage it. He's taken the book from my hands again, rereading my scrawl.

"It's our lives, duh," I say with a grin. "You just write down how long a person will end up living, and what they'll do with their life. You know, relevant stuff. Aspirations and the like."

He's frowning down at the book, but he turns and leaves the kitchen without a word. I smile to myself, picking up my bowl of soggy cereal and beer, finishing it off.

About a week later I find the Life Note sitting on top of our stack of books in the living room. I pick it up, expecting the pages to be empty, and I'm surprised to see that he's added a few other names. Whammy and Roger made the list, and surprisingly so did Near and a few of the other kids from the house growing up. He also amended the entry on the two of us. Under me it now says 'Nobel Prize winner,' and under Mello it says, 'Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.' I smile a little at that, but that isn't the part that makes full on grin. He added a note in the margin by our names, in little sideways handwriting, 'Probably legally married in Canada or something.'

I must be grinning like an idiot, because before I know it a pillow hits me square in the back of the head. I drop the book to the floor, and Mello sends me a glare from where he's sitting at his desk. "Stop looking so damn smug and get back to work."

I do, but that certainly doesn't keep me from smiling.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I got this idea from an author in another fandom and decided to give it a try in order to get myself back into writing! I will be posting daily (or almost daily!) until Christmas, and possibly after that as well if I get a good response. Most chapters will stand alone, varying in length and content. Some will be AU, which will be marked at the top of the chapter, as well as a rating for that section. It will be a mix of fluff, smut, and holiday cheer! I hope everyone has a fabulous December and enjoys the reading!<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_The Office Meeting_  
><em>(AU)<em>  
><em>Words: 2,475<em>  
><em>Rated: T<em>

* * *

><p>Matt hadn't always worked at an office building in downtown Chicago — if he had, he'd probably be better at PowerPoint presentations and Excel spreadsheets. It wasn't that he didn't like his job in accounting, backslash, marketing, parenthesis future growth and development division. He would probably just like other jobs better. Any job, actually.<p>

There really was no defining moment for Matt where he said to himself, "Now I know what I'll do with my life, I'll be a businessman!" It was a slow burn, inching up on him. Before he even realized it, he was metaphorically duct taped to a desk chair and surrounded by discount purchased office supplies and calendars filled with deadlines and demands. All because of his father.

This waas not a 'Daddy Issues' dilemma, not really, although that probably had something to do with it. His father was a strict but kind man who just so happened to be successful in the world of advertising. While he was excellent at selling a pitch, he seemed to have problems listening to the dreams and desires of his only son, his protégée, heir apparent, that one guy who's doomed from the start. But this isn't a Daddy Issues dilemma, remember?

The real problem came down to money. Matt wasn't greedy by any means, and had no qualms with living in substandard conditions, but mediocrity was not what he was raised toward. Or so his mother says. At age 18 the company where his father was employed offered Matt the opportunity to intern in the office while he got his degree — they'd even pay his tuition, which was a golden egg if he'd ever seen one. His father believed in earned success and hard work, or some bullshit like that, so it wasn't as if Matt had many options at the time to slack off and pursue his dreams.

For whatever the reason, that multimillion dollar company looked at gangly, awkward, 18 year old Matt Jeevas and said, "He looks like he'd make an excellent accountant." It's not that he didn't have a choice — there's always a choice — but at 18 with no money and no prospects for a job or even a place to live, a little financial security and someone to say they believe in you seemed like a great thing.

Then he started at university. To say it was a disaster is an understatement; he isn't entirely sure why Stanton Global didn't just throw up their hands and give him the boot. He was lazy, ineffective, bored, and quite frankly a bit of a prick. How he managed to graduate with a legitimate degree is still a joke among his coworkers. (The theory with the most traction is that he hacked the university records and changed all his marks to Bs.)

For whatever the reasons, Matt Jeevas, slack-off extraordinaire, was employed at one of the most prestigious and well-established companies in Chicago during the worst economic times in years. Even _he_ didn't know how he did it sometimes.

"Matt, I have presents for you!" A thick looking folder plopped down on the edge of his desk, and Matt eyed it with distaste. The bearer of so-called gifts, Linda, had a red Santa hat pushed down over her blonde hair. She smiled, seeming pleased with herself.

Matt's interactions with Linda were limited. She worked on the 8th floor, while he was on the 9th. She did a lot of graphic design work for the advertising division, which meant she had that mildly obnoxious, happy, creative energy about her. Why she was bothering him with an intimidatingly thick folder was a question Matt was afraid to ask.

He poked at the folder with the top end of his pen, managing to flip open the first page to reveal a colorful looking graph. It probably said something important, but he wasn't about to actually read it. Crinkling up his nose, he said, "Why can't you bring me candy like a normal person? This is hardly a gift."

"Of course it is, silly!" she said with a laugh. "You get to sit in on the meeting with the new client, Maggi Studios. Isn't that great?"

He blinked at the pile of papers with mild confusion and apprehension on his face. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning—" she smacked her hand down on the folder with a grin. "You're moving up in the world, Matty."

After checking with his senior manager and finding out that Linda's gossip was true, Matt spent the afternoon reading up on Maggi Studios. Something about this felt vaguely important. He could get a raise, or a change in position or…anything, actually, would be a good thing.

The meeting was on Thursday. Matt wore his best suit jacket, even though it was too long in the arms and too big in the shoulders. He didn't know how to shop for the proper suit, although you couldn't expect much better shopping secondhand anyway. He was mostly well-groomed for the meeting, with his usually unruly red hair combed and his stubble shaved away. The boardroom filled up with a slow trickle of people as the different departments of Stanton Global were represented. The room was decorated in a vaguely winter, benign sort of way, with sparse boughs of holly and other wintry paraphernalia. Nothing was distinctly Christmas themed, as the company didn't want to offend any clients of different religious beliefs. Or something like that, Matt didn't really pay attention to the bylaws.

Maggi Studios was to be represented by Stanton Global in advertising and business endeavors. Matt didn't know much about things outside his department; he was focused solely on money and trends. Oh, the joy.

The representatives from Maggi Studios arrived in a group, and were greeted with customary handshakes and introductions down the line. The woman who seemed to be in charge was introduced as Halle Lidner, and when she shook Matt's hand she barely granted him a glance. It was a cold, stiff sort of handshake and Matt had to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine.

The man next in line didn't just take Matt's hand in a perfunctory handshake. Their eyes slid together, and Matt was instantly mesmerized by earth shattering, window-to-heaven blue. The man's lips moved in a name that Matt only half heard — Mello, was that even right? — and the stranger's lips quirked up in a subtle smirk. Matt was probably gaping like an idiot.

And then he was moving down the line to the next representative, but Matt wasn't really paying attention to the Maggi Studios' employees anymore. Without conscious thought he tossed a glance back at Mello, their eyes clicking together once more. There was a sizzle of electricity under Matt's skin that made his toes curl and his breath quicken. This couldn't be normal.

It was a blessing from the heavens that Matt was only present to observe and take notes. The most they expected out of him was to approach his supervisor at a later time with any additional ideas. Like hell that was going to happen, he was barely paying attention to the presentation. Mello was seated across the large conference room table, about three chairs down from Matt.

Like a bee to honey, his eyes kept slipping over to the blonde in what he hoped were discreet glances. He couldn't help it. But every single time, Mello was looking at him. (The only comfort Matt got from this was that maybe the other man wasn't paying attention either, so he wouldn't be the only one.) Their gazes would connect and Matt's heart would pick up a little. The color of Mello's eyes made them look icy, but there was an undeniable heat there. Matt swallowed hard, tie suddenly feeling too tight. When Mello licked his lips, Matt felt like his heart stopped for a second there. His cheeks flushed without his consent. Mentally cursing his red hair and fair skin, Matt wondered how soft those lips would feel.

Somehow they went on like that for two and a half hours. It was a miracle that Matt kept his ass firmly in his seat instead of, say, putting it in Mello's lap. God, this was a disaster.

Matt's superiors were busy kissing ass when the meeting finally ended, reshaking hands and making grand promises of things to come. Feeling as though he was being undressed by Mello's eyes, Matt did the only thing he could think of without spontaneously combusting, and excused himself from the boardroom without giving any parting words to the new clients. He'd even forgotten his notes — well, that was a joke, he hadn't actually taken any notes on the yellow legal pad.

In the hallway back to his cubical a strong hand grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Without even looking he knew who it was, and he mentally laughed at himself. How had this even happened? This afternoon he was eating a prepackaged salad and doodling dragons on sticky notes, leaving them on top of every flat surface of the office that had a Santa on it. Gorgeous blonde men do not just stare at people like Matt; this doesn't happen to normal people. When had his life become a romantic comedy?

But apparently it was happening, because the hand on his arm turned him around and he was face-to-face with…Halle Lidner? His brain sputtered a bit.

"You're Matt Jeevas?" she asked, tone no-nonsense.

Numb and speechless, all he could do was nod.

"Are you the same Matt Jeevas who won the Gamecaster tournament in 2009?"

It took his mind a few moments to catch up. He was a gamer in his spare time — no judging, please. It was the way he blew off steam and had some fun. He was almost embarrassingly good at it. "Yeah, that was me," he answered, forgetting that he should be more humble or professional or _something_.

Then something, or rather someone, caught his eye; Mello was leaning one shoulder against the wall, about ten feet behind from Lidner. He had a smirk on his face, like he knew exactly what they were talking about. Matt wasn't quite close enough to make out the details of the blonde's eyes, but he was pretty sure they were sparkling with amusement. He just seemed like that type.

Lidner was offering him a business card, and Matt fumbled to accept it, completely confused. "I would be interested to hear your take on new social media and the direction of the industry. Maggi Studios produces both television and gaming media and I believe you might be valuable to my team. Give my secretary a call next week and we'll set up a meeting."

Without waiting for Matt's answer she turned and walked away, heels clicking against the floor with each step. Matt was just left standing in the middle of the hallway, gripping her business card so tight that it bent in his hand.

Mello gave Lidner a smile and a nod as she passed before pushing off the wall, approaching Matt with a swagger that said it all. "So," he pushed his hands into his pockets, smile in place, raising a single eyebrow. "Matt…is that short for something?"

It's a line if Matt's ever heard one. Oddly, that doesn't even seem to matter, because the redhead blushed anyways. "N-no," he stuttered, still a little shaken from his encounter with Lidner. "Did you have anything do with that?" he gestured with the business card in the direction Lidner had gone.

Mello chuckled, reaching up to idly tug on Matt's forest green tie. He pulled it out from the redhead's suit jacket, not failing to notice the convulsive way Matt swallowed when his hand slid up higher on the smooth material, tugging him forward just a tad. Mello's smile wasn't quite happy — fear inducing, actually, was the only way Matt could think to describe it. How had this man wormed his way so deep under his skin when this was the first real conversation they'd ever even had?

"If I say yes," Mello's voice was low, "then will you feel the need to thank me profusely?" the question was posed with a single raised eyebrow.

Matt was paralyzed under that gaze, those striking crystalline blue eyes so close in front of him now. He swallowed again, trying to get his saliva glands to start working again. "Probably," he heard himself say, without even considering the consequences.

And Matt got exactly what he deserved. Mello tugged on his tie, pulling him forward while leaning down, slanting his lips over Matt's. _His lips aren't as soft as I thought they'd be_, Matt thought dumbly. When his body finally caught up with the situation he leaned into the contact, hands gripping the sides of Mello's suit. The blonde's jacket was far better fitting than his own, Matt noted.

Just when a moist, curious tongue was licking its way past Matt's lips, a throat was cleared behind them. Matt jumped about a foot in the air, stumbling back a step and almost tripping over his own feet. No doubt his cheeks were flaming red. Mello looked totally composed, the bastard.

Linda stood there with a stack of folders clutched to her chest, no doubt on her way to the copy room at the far end of the hall. She was looking at Matt with a mix of curiosity, amusement and…amazement? "So…I guess the meeting went well?" She asked to no one in particular.

"It was a very productive meeting," Mello cut in smoothly, smiling in her direction. "Can I borrow a pen?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," she produced a pen from her high ponytail, which always seemed to carry writing utensils.

When she handed it to Mello he thanked her lightly, grabbing Matt's hand. He scribbled on the palm before handing it back to the artist. "See ya," he winked in Matt's direction before striding down the hall to the elevator.

Matt was dumbstruck, which seemed to be his go-to expression for the day. "What the hell just happened?" He asked, mostly to himself.

Since Linda was there to hear it, however, she answered, "I think you just got picked up by a hottie."

Matt looked down at his palm, which was now decorated with seven digits, and then looked at his other hand, still clutching Lidner's card. "My Dad is going to flip the fuck out," he realized aloud.

Linda snorted ineloquently. "About what, the sexy guy with the really nice ass?"

"Well, there's that," he said, still in awe, "But I think I just got offered a job."

"If it puts you in a ten mile radius of that guy on a daily basis, I'd take it even if they paid you in Cheetos."

Matt laughed at that, "Yeah, it would probably still be worth it."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Another day, another little bit of cheer! I hope these stories are spreading the holiday spirit and just happiness in general. This one turned out much longer than expected, but it was a fun one! I'm excited to see what tomorrow churns out. =D If you have any suggestions, requests, or anything like that, let me know in a review! I'm going to be doing this for a while, so ideas are always welcome!<em>

_Super special thanks to Kari Twilight Mist, Qualyn, doomshuriken, Living in a fantasy, seraph86, and ChocoAndCigs! Your kind words and support make writing that much easier! It's so nice to be reminded of all the amazing people I've met through this fandom. You guys rock! Happy December 8, see you tomorrow!_


	3. Chapter 3

_The Neighbor_  
><em>(AU)<em>  
><em>Words: 1,900<em>  
><em>Rated: M<em>

* * *

><p>Mello's next-door neighbor is batshit crazy. Not mildly eccentric or misunderstood, but fucking batshit crazy. Seriously. Mello would be minding his own business, like always, doing something completely innocent like walking down the drive of his rented, barely-standing house, and he'd just be <em>there<em>. Smoking. Or staring. Or just being generally creepy, leaning on the fence that separated their properties. Can't someone walk to campus in peace?

Usually the guy wouldn't say anything. He'd just smile a little, or give a casual half-wave. But he wasn't fooling Mello with his innocent, friendly neighbor act. Mello knew he was fucking crazy.

There are a number of reasons he could cite, but the only one that really matters is…well, this is kind of embarrassing. But every time Mello gets undressed, he swears that—that _creep_, is watching him. Okay, so he has no definitive proof of this, and he should probably just invest in mini-blinds or something, but that's not the point! He's never actually caught his next-door neighbor watching him through the windows, but the glances the guy sends him just seem like the type that had seen him naked. You know?

Every time Mello would be shimmying out of his jeans to take a shower or put on workout clothes or whatever, he could just feel the eyes on his back. It had to be his neighbor. Because he is batshit crazy.

You seem unconvinced, but that's okay. Mello has compiled quite a list of other things that prove his neighbor to be just the type to watch other college students — of the male variety — undress through their bedroom windows.

For example, he drives this Chevy Chevelle that's at least 30 years old. Sure, it's all shiny and has this classic car, badass vibe going on, but do you know how much gas that thing must eat up? A fuck-ton, that's how much. One point for crazy.

And another thing is that he looks grungy all the time. He always has stubble on his chin and it looks like his hair has never encountered a comb in his life. His clothes are usually wrinkly or have oil stains or God knows what on them. One sign of psychosis is lack of hygiene. Or at least, Mello thinks he read something like that somewhere. Probably in his psychology textbook, which he used to study crazy people. Like his next-door neighbor.

Another thing is that there's this cat. It's a tabby, not particularly attractive because it's a skinny little thing, and Mello's neighbor feeds it. One day, before he really started getting the creeps, Mello asked, "Is that your cat?" And what did the guy say? No. He said fucking no! And he _feeds_ the thing; Mello's seen him do it. He puts this little dish out on his front porch every morning with cat food that he probably buys at the store. He spends money on the damn thing! He'd bet money that the cat has ticks or some kind of feline disease that's going to kill them all.

His neighbor is probably an animal hoarder, because that's another sign of insanity. Or, if not animals, newspapers. There's probably a boatload of newspaper stacks cluttering every corner of his house. Mello is convinced, there's no changing his mind. Matt Jeevas is one crazy mother fucker. There's no hope for that one.

And that's how Mello ended up in the bushes outside Matt's house at 7:30 at night. Maybe it was his competitive streak, or maybe it was his own obsessive compulsive tendencies showing, but he had to get even with that fucker. And, for whatever reason, the only logical way to get even was to see Matt naked. Because if Mello saw Matt naked, then they'd both have seen the other's goods, and that would fair. Right? Right.

It was with this half-baked plan in mind that Mello waited impatiently for Matt to enter his bedroom and get changed. The bush was a juniper and was actually incredibly itchy. That's what he got for wearing short sleeves during a stakeout. He resisted a sigh. Waiting had never been his strong suit. To pass the time, he started picking at the peeling paint on the side of Matt's house. It had probably been blue, at some point, but it wasn't anymore after years in the sun.

Suddenly the light flipped on in the bedroom, and Mello crouched down lower. His heart was beating a little faster, but he figured it was because he was a badass spy. The dark outside would hide him, he figured. Mello thought he might have to wait a while until Matt finally changed, but the redhead didn't disappoint. After throwing a bag on his bed, he pulled off his shirt, which was spotted with oil and crap.

Mello's cheeks flushed a little in the dark. He'd taken his neighbor as a lanky, malnourished freak, but that wasn't entirely the case. He was definitely thin, but the baggy clothes the redhead wore hid lean, well-defined muscles. His back muscles, looking sinewy and athletic through the window, flexed and shifted under his skin while he pulled open his dresser drawer.

Mello swallowed hard as the other man started to unfasten his worn jeans. The blonde moved unconsciously, shifting his weight in the awkward crouching position, trying to get more comfortable. When he took a half step back in the brush an inhuman yowl pierced his eardrums, making him jump and half fall into the side of the house. Something wielding baby daggers ripped at his leg, catching his ankle where his jeans weren't protecting the skin. He let out quite a loud curse, just as a cat-sized beast tore from the bushes and into the next yard.

Reality hit Mello hard, and he panicked. Matt would have heard the cat, or him curse. "Shit!" he said, without really thinking about it. He scrambled out of the bushes without chancing another look in Matt's bedroom window. Half running, half limping, he made it back to his house in record time and scooted in the backdoor. He was breathing hard, cheeks flushed from embarrassment and failure. Maybe he was kind of a sucky spy.

When Mello's doorbell rung the next evening, he figured it was UPS or something. He planned on never seeing Matt Jeevas ever again. He was going to avoid him at all costs, even if that meant climbing over the back fence to take another road to walk to campus. His ankle was sporting four angry, red scratch lines; he was probably going to get a disease. But more than a bloody and sore ankle, he had a bruised ego. Mello was not good at failing.

So when he opened the door and there stood his batshit crazy next-door neighbor, Mello felt the color rise in his cheeks and he almost slammed the door in the guy's face. But that would be suspicious, right? And maybe Matt didn't know he'd been spying on him through his bedroom window. Best to play it cool.

"Hey," Matt greeted with a small smile.

"Uh, hey," Mello responded with only a slight hesitation while leaning against the doorframe.

"Listen, I'm going out of town in about a week to visit my family for winter break. I was hoping you could take care of the cat while I'm gone. You know, if you're going to be here."

Mello narrowed his eyes, a little suspicious. Matt looked innocent enough, standing there with his hands in his pockets. But of course Mello picked up on the one minute detail that no one else would care about. "You said _the_ cat," he repeated in monotone.

"Yeah, the cat," Matt had the decency to look cutely confused. "You've probably seen it around. It's brown and has stripes."

"But it's not _your_ cat," Mello reminded him.

Matt laughed — he actually _laughed_! Mello wasn't being _funny_. He was totally serious. "Yeah, I guess it's not. I just figure that someone should feed it."

Although Matt's logic is flawed, Mello finds himself agreeing to feed the cat anyway. Only God knows why. They're walking over to Matt's garage so the redhead can give him the bag of cat food when Matt says casually, "Hey, do you know the neighbor on the other side of you?"

"Not really," Mello said after a brief pause, mulling over the idea. He'd probably seen the guy in passing, but Mello wasn't exactly mister social.

"He's a creep," Matt visibly shudders. "You must have seen him, the guy has white hair—it's white! And he has to be our age, right? I think there's something wrong with him. Anyways, I'm pretty sure the guy was looking in my bedroom window last night. What a weirdo, huh?"

Mello froze up for a moment before forcing his body to keep moving. He laughed, an awkward sound. "Yeah, sounds like a real creep." Dear God, what had he done? But he was only getting even! Because, because…ah, shit.  
>Matt picked up the bag of cat food, which couldn't be more than ten pounds, holding it against his hip. Mello couldn't help but remember the subtle jut of his hipbone, just above the top of his jeans…damn it! <em>He<em> was a creeper!

"So," Matt was saying, drawing Mello's attention back to the present. "Do you want to have dinner sometime?" He smiled.

Mello was shocked, not knowing what to say. This was getting way out of hand. "Yeah, okay," he heard the words coming out of his mouth, not sure how they made it past the filter of his brain. That was _not_ what he meant to say!

But then Matt was smiling again, and Mello hadn't really seen it up close before, and the color was rising in the blonde's cheeks.

And that was probably how Mello ended up bent over the hood of Matt's red, 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle exactly one week later with his pants around his ankles. His shirt was pushed up to his armpits, and Matt's arm was wrapped around his waist, allowing the blonde to rest all his weight down against the hood of the car without pressing his hips into the unyielding metal.

The car was smooth and cool under his spread fingertips. Mello was catching his breath, hair sweaty and falling every which way. He could feel every time Matt exhaled against his neck, his skin tingling all over.

"I…I have to tell you something," he said, voice raspy.

"Hmm," was Matt's only response. The redhead was busy nuzzling his hair and nibbling the back of his ear.

"I'm…I'm fucking crazy man," Mello said in a rushed breath. "Certifiably crazy."

Matt's chuckle was almost as warm as those fingertips tracing Mello's lower stomach. "I think I can handle you," he said, a teasing note in his breathless voice, but underneath that he sounded serious. "Hey, you're still going to take care of the cat this week, right?"

Mello huffed, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. "You ask me that _now_? Yes, I'll feed your damn cat."

"Good," Matt said, and Mello could practically hear the smile in the other man's voice. After a moment the redhead continued, "Mel?"

"Yeah?" Mello asked, resting his head down on his folded arms since Matt didn't seem to be moving anytime soon.

"Where the fuck did those scratches on your leg come from?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: This was my favorite so far. ;D The cat which is not Matt's will probably make another appearance in later installments! Also, I don't typically do Mello on bottom, but I like to think they can switch, haha. And sometimes I forget how crazy Mello is. So this was a result of that. You can thank doomshuriken for Near's cameo! Tomorrow's post will probably be a little later in the evening. Happy December 9, see you all again tomorrow!<em>

_This entire package is dedicated to all those awesome people who read Tinted Gold and For Hire, those who inspire me to write, and who have ever said a kind word to an author and encouraged them to write no matter what. Thanks for the reviews guys!_

_So today's question: What's the worst gift you've ever gotten? ;P Tell me about it!_


	4. Chapter 4

_The Sleeping Arrangements  
>Words: 630<em>  
><em>Rated: K+<em>

* * *

><p>When I'm pulled from a deep sleep, my body is protesting violently. My internal clock is firmly pointing towards 'Not Morning,' and the bedroom is pitch black. Awareness is slow coming, but finally I realize what dragged me from dreamland — Mello's side of the bed is empty.<p>

I grumble under my breath, but I'm practically asleep and not about to get up just to figure out where he went. I wiggle my way over to his side of the mattress, the sheets bunching up around my legs. The bed, gently indented with his shape from nights of use, is still warm. My arms wrap around his pillow like it's another body, my nose nuzzled into the fabric.

God, I need to do laundry. The pillow case smells faintly of stale sweat and chocolate. It's a salty-sweet smell, and a little musky. It reminds me so easily of Mello that I start to fall asleep again.

I half hear the door creak open, caught somewhere between a dream and reality. I definitely hear Mello snort though, and I know he's standing by my side of the bed. "You're such a girl," he says in a low voice, although there's affection in his tone (probably because he thinks I'm not conscious enough to hear him).

"Not'uh girl," I grumble, my own voice thick from sleep and muffled through the pillow.

The bed dips down as Mello rejoins me on the mattress. He's laughing quietly as he tugs the sheets from their tangled position around my legs, readjusting everything so it's resting right over our bodies before laying down himself. His arm wraps around my waist, and we shift against each other to get comfortable. His chest is warm against my back. His hand, with its nimble pianist's fingers, is idly tracing patterns on my stomach. The touch is oddly soothing.

It's silent for a long stretch before I say through the pillow, "Why am I always the little spoon?"

"Because you _like_ being the little spoon," he reminds me, and I can almost hear him roll his eyes.

I just yawn, too tired to argue when I know he's right anyways. "Where'd ya go?" I ask, eyes half-lidded as I look at the wall with the curtained window. If I listen hard enough, I can hear cars passing on the street below. I'd rather just listen to Mello's breathing though, so I do that.

"Can't a guy take a piss without having to answer a bunch of questions about it?" He chuckles against my hair, making me smile to myself. I'm quiet and comfortable for a moment before he says in a whisper, "You know, it's snowing outside."

"Liar," I say, although I bet he knows I'm smiling. Still, I don't believe him. It never snows here. Rain, sure, but never snow.

"Believe whatever you want, but it's snowing outside. We'll probably have at least three feet tomorrow."

I make a skeptical sound in my throat. "Yeah, and I bet Santa is going to visit us this year too," I say mockingly, although my yawn kind of ruins the affect.

Mello laughs again, my favorite sound. "Don't be ridiculous, you have to be good for Santa to visit you. He knows you're a slut and I'm a criminal."

"Am not a slut," I grumble, but I'm so tired and warm against him that I'm starting to fall asleep again. "I'm…at _least_ a slutty _criminal_."

"Mmhm," Mello hums against my hair, but I know he's humoring me and laughing to himself.

We're quiet after that, and eventually we fall asleep, each lying on the other's side of the bed. The next morning there isn't snow on the ground, but I like to think that maybe it snowed while we were asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Another day, another installment! This is a quickie because I had a very full day and only a few spare moments to write. =) Hope it brightened your day just a little! The next few days will probably be sparse, but once we get past Monday I'll have some free time to get back into the thick of it! See you all again tomorrow. =)<em>

_Thanks for the reviews! Glad everyone liked crazy Mello. =D Haha!  
>QOTD: Do you give "acquaintance" gifts to people that you know and see fairly often but don't call a friend? What sorts of things to do you give them? Or, on the flip side, what's the greatest thing you've gotten from an acquaintance? Let me know, I love to hear from you guys!<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_The Robot_  
><em>Words: 1,500<em>  
><em>Rated: M<em>

* * *

><p>Near feels a strong emotional attachment to the giant robot in the mall. His affection for the decoration is unexplainable, because the giant robot has no distinguishable characteristics to make it superior to other robots, except for perhaps its size. Although largely illogical, Near was drawn to the red, green and purple robot the first time he saw it.<p>

The giant robot, in addition to other oversized toys, was a temporary decoration around the central court of the mall where Santa is present from the hours of 3 to 7 p.m., Tuesday through Saturday until Christmas. Presumably Santa is a religious individual who desires Sundays off to exact obligatory Christian traditions, and Mondays to confer with his unusually small-sized employees.

Near was not at all interested in seeing Santa. Even if it were within the realm of possibility to travel the entire earth in a day while making stops at every household with a child, Santa would surely not be spending Tuesday through Saturday at a mall in the Los Angeles area. Are children so uneducated these days that they don't realize this fact?

Near first saw the robot while in the mall with Halle Lidner, who was escorting him to the food court after purchasing some sort of holiday themed garland for the office to raise morale. The robot stood there before them in all its 7 feet of glory. It was erect in stature, its square torso colored bright, sparkling purple. The left arm and right leg were green, and the reverses were red. It looked down at Near with bright, black, circular eyes the size of tea saucers. He was immediately taken by it.

He returned to the mall the next day, simply contenting himself with sitting next to the giant robot. The sparkles gave it a pleasant texture, he discovered by resting his hand on the robot's foot, which was the same purple as its torso. While families with children passed by to stand in the formed line to converse with Santa and request hand-outs, Near stuck by his robot. No one bothered him. It was rather pleasant, really, and his affection for the robot grew.

He did not expect to run into Matt and Mello. He was sitting adjacent to the robot, per his usual routine for the last week, when the pair spotted him and approached. Matt was affable in his greeting, slurping on what appeared to be some sort of red-colored icy drink. Mello was less amiable, eyeing Near and the robot with what appeared to be blitheness on his face. "Hey Near…what'cha doin'?"

Mello seemed to be expecting some sort of specific answer, but what that was Near wasn't sure. So he said, "I am partaking in holiday cheer."

Mello snorted at that. Matt just smiled a little, continuing to sip his drink. "Fucking weirdo," Mello said, loud enough for Near to hear. He glanced between Near and the robot a few more times before tugging on Matt's sleeve. "Come on, we got stuff to do."

"Can we go to GameStop?" Matt asked with a cheeky grin.

"Over my dead body."

They continued to argue as they left Near, sitting there with his robot. He was content again.

Near wasn't quite sure when he decided it was necessary to take the robot from the mall. As Christmas was fast approaching, he became anxious that the decoration would be removed from the area, perhaps disposed of or taken apart once the holiday concluded. The robot would fit nicely at headquarters.

Now Near is not a criminal, nor does he condone lawless behavior, but this was different. No individual in all the time he had spent by the robot showed the same level of attachment that he did. As perhaps the sole appreciator of the robot, it should rightfully become his. It was going to waste in the mall, where it could easily be tipped over and broken. He had concluded that the robot was assembled by pieces; the feet were each a piece, as were the legs, the torso, the arms and the head. When taken apart, it wouldn't be hard to carry and remove from the premises.

It was with this plan in mind that Near went to the mall after closing. He was not so naïve to believe his intentions are completely innocent of greed and dishonesty, but he comforted himself with the thought that he was saving the robot from a cruel fate.

The entrance to the mall which was located closest to the robot was unlocked. This fact was peculiar to Near, but he decided that cleaning crews must be onsite or it was simply an oversight by a careless employee. The mall was lit on the inside by safety lights, which created a dimmer illumination than usual, but still made it easy for Near to locate the robot in its usual spot. Only, the robot was not alone.

Near stopped dead in his tracks, horrified by the sight before him. Matt and Mello were…were…_fornicating_ on his robot! Matt's pants were thrown over the robot's shoulder, and Near tried not to focus on what he believed to be Matt's underwear tossed on the robot's head. The redhead looked thoroughly debauched, lying on his back across the sparkly square feet of the robot. _Near's_ robot!

Matt's shirt was pushed up around his chest, and he had one boot dangling from his toes. (How that managed to stay on when his pants were noticeably missing was a mystery to Near.) His head was falling back off the robot's feet, since the decoration wasn't big enough for his whole body to fit lengthwise across it. The position caused his neck to arch in a smooth, pale line. His lips were parted and cheeks flushed, damp hair falling back.

Mello was far more composed and mercifully wearing much more clothing. He was between Matt's legs, and the angle spared Near the details of their copulation. It appeared that Mello was still wearing all his usual clothing elements, although his pants may have been lower than was typical of his fashion.

After Near overcame his initial shock he was quietly furious. The depraved sound that Matt made sealed it; Near was just plain seething. He stomped up to the robot. "Remove yourselves from this robot immediately!" he said with far more force than usual.

Mello scoffed, seeming unaffected by Near's presence.

"If you stop," Matt said between gasps, seeming only vaguely aware of Near's interruption, "I will cut your fucking balls off."

Near tried to ignore the movement of Mello's hips, which have Matt mewling and squirming. "This is highly inappropriate," Near said, voice strained to show how grave a matter this was. "There are plenty of other areas available for your fornication."

Mello grunted, "Can't stop now Near, Matt's all hot and bothered," he grinned before giving another purposeful thrust of his hips.

Matt groaned in such a way that alarmed Near; he sounded like he was in pain.

"These activities are to be carried out in private," Near said, glaring up at Mello.

Mello just laughed. "Well it was private until you showed up, buddy boy. Tell him Matty."

"Fuck, both of you just shut up," Matt gasped.

"See?" Mello smiled. "We were here first."

"Why do you have to do this on the robot?" Near asked, anxiously twirling his hair around one finger.

"Duh, it's the most comfortable spot."

Near narrowed his eyes. This was clearly a hyperbole; the robot was not a proper place to couple on.

Mello looked like he was about to say something else, but Matt did something with his hips that Near didn't quite get. Mello uttered an expletive, gripping the back of Matt's thigh and pressing it further up. "Fucking hell Matt," he grumbled.

Near scooted toward their heads so he wouldn't have to look at the curve of Matt's posterior.

"Well," Matt huffed, glaring up at Mello with pink cheeks. "If you're not going to make me come then _I_ have to do it. Fucking jackass."

"Slut."

"Bastard."

Near coughed loudly, an interruption technique that he'd never thought he'd need to use.

"I would like you to remove yourselves from the robot as soon as possible," he repeated, feeling like a broken record.

Matt groped out blindly, his hand landing right in the middle of Near's face. He gave the white haired boy a half push back. "Ten minutes. Come back then," he suggested breathlessly.

Blushing faintly, Near decided ten minutes to wait wouldn't be so bad. He left, completely ignoring Mello's triumphant smirk, and walked around to the other side of Santa's Toyland. He sat patiently, counting the minutes in his head.

When Matt let out a loud groan after 8 minutes and 48 seconds, Near decided he could wait a few extra minutes to collect and disinfect his robot. He really didn't need to go back over there when Matt still wasn't wearing pants.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I didn't know whether or not to put AU on this story, but I figured I wouldn't. It doesn't really fit with canon, but since I wasn't changing much about them I figured I would call it canonical. =) Hopefully that didn't cause confusion. Everyone was asking for something a little dirty, so this is what you get. ;D Probably not exactly what you wanted, but I enjoyed it, haha! One of my favorites so far. Happy December 11, see you tomorrow! (I have a busy day planned again tomorrow, so another later post. Sorry about that!)<em>

_QOTD: How do you spend Christmas morning?_


	6. Chapter 6

_The Jumper  
>(AU)<em>  
><em>Words: 1,500<em>  
><em>Rated: T<em>

* * *

><p>When Matt arrived, the area was already cordoned off. Police barrier, worriedly curious onlookers, flashing lights, it was all there. Matt's breath puffed in front of his face, and he hunkered down further in his jacket while he walked past the barrier with purposeful steps. He flashed his badge to the cop on guard, snatching the clipboard from the assistant who rushed to meet him. Matt was what you would call a specialist.<p>

He scanned the page while he walked closer to the seven story apartment building. The handwritten notes on the paper were succinct and not overly helpful. Mihael "Mello" Keehl; Jumper; Age 23; No known family; Registered as unemployed; Presumed single; Armed but no shots fired.

Matt grit his teeth. Everyone here was incompetent. "You have him on the phone?" Matt asked the two police officers who looked to be somewhat knowledgeable of the situation, meanwhile scribbling something on the bottom of the paper. He ripped off the strip, handing it to the assistant, who looked confused. "Go get that." When the man didn't immediately move Matt yelled, "Now!" The young man scrambled off like someone had lit a fire under his ass.

One of the police officers cleared his throat, "We have made contact three times, but he keeps hanging up the phone."

"Is he violent?"

"He has a gun, and is threatening to shoot anyone who goes up on the roof. He says he's going to jump."

"Well he would have by now if he was really going to kill himself," Matt said, exacerbated. He tossed the clipboard aside. "Get him on the phone, now."

When Matt was handed the phone, a deep voice growled into his ear, "Stop fucking calling me! I'm done talking with you people!"

"Then why do you keep picking up the phone?" Matt responded, voice indifferent.

There was a momentary pause, followed by a scoff. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"The guy you want to talk to," Matt said, glancing up when the breathless assistant reappeared with two large cups from Starbucks and a jacket thrown over one arm. Matt accepted the requested items without comment. "You must be pretty cold up there," He continued into the phone. "It's, what, 15 degrees out here?"

"It's not that cold," the deep voice muttered into Matt's ear, and the redhead had to resist a smile. He sounded stubborn. Which was probably one of the reasons he was on that roof in the first place.

"Well, I have two cups of hot chocolate and a heavy coat. How about I bring them up to you? Just in case you're going to be up there a while longer."

"I don't need your fucking jacket, I'm going to be dead soon, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Matt said softly. "But that doesn't mean you have to freeze your ass off until then."

There was silence on the line for a good thirty seconds; Matt was holding his breath. "Okay, but just you come up," Mello said gruffly, and the line cut.

After climbing seven flights of stairs (because of course Mihael "Mello" Keehl could not attempt to commit suicide on a building with an elevator), Matt made it to the roof. The door opened with a loud creak, and he tried not to sound as out of breath as he felt. The freezing air on the roof probably wasn't helping his aching lungs any.

Matt wasn't quite sure what he was expecting to find, but this was certainly not it. Mello was a thin, rather small man. (Not that Matt was comparatively any bigger, but from the sound of his voice Matt just expected someone…taller.) He was not dressed to be outside for any extended period of time; he wore tight leather pants and a freaking _vest_. Yeah, he didn't even have sleeves. Matt would probably kill himself too. It made Matt wonder what caused him to turn so quickly toward suicide. This was obviously not well thought out and planned.

The blonde was also holding a pistol, gripping it in one hand while he crossed his arms over his chest. Probably to keep warm, Matt told himself. The blonde was eying Matt with skepticism and apprehension, but when Matt extended the hand holding the jacket, good sense won out. Mello snatched up the coat, pulling it on without a second thought.

"You have hot chocolate?" Mello asked, still seeming distrustful in the way he looked Matt up and down.

"Extra hot," Matt said, realizing that that was the first thing he'd said to this man face-to-face. He handed over the cup, and Mello shoved the gun into the back of his pants in favor of cradling the hot chocolate lovingly between his bare palms. "So you want to talk about why you're up here?" Matt asked conversationally, half sitting on one of the air conditioning units that decorated the rooftop.

"Not with you," the blonde snapped, but then proceeded to sip his hot chocolate.

Matt resisted a smile. This was a serious matter; he needed Mello to know that he took him seriously. "Is there someone you'd rather talk to?" Matt offered.

The question hung in the air for a moment, Mello looking out across the rooftops instead of at Matt. "No, there isn't." His gaze pulled itself back to the redhead, intense blue eyes narrowing. "Who are you again?"

"I'm Matt," he said, before taking a drink of his own hot chocolate.

"A cop, right?" Mello asked with a grunt.

"Not exactly, but I guess you could say that."

"Psychologist," Mello said with a narrowing of his eyes. It wasn't a question.

"Psychiatrist, actually."

Mello scoffed. "Liar. You look like you're my age."

Matt just gave a half shrug. "I'm smart when I want to be. I have to pay the bills, you know?" There was quiet for a moment so Matt prodded a little deeper, testing the waters, "How do you pay your bills, Mello?"

The blonde's eyes zeroed in on him again, narrowing. For a tense moment Matt thought Mello was going to clam up on him, or at least cuss him out, but finally Mello's shoulders sagged with a deep exhale. He looked down. "I'm tired of not being the best. I keep trying and I just…I'm not good enough."

Matt recognized a non-answer when he saw one, but didn't call Mello out on it. At least they were getting somewhere. "And why is that?"

"Because I'm a fucking loser!" He exploded, meeting Matt's eyes; there was desperation, anger and sadness there. "And now I'm on a roof, talking to some half-baked psychiatrist wannabe, drinking his shitty hot chocolate because it's damn cold and I want to kill myself!"

Matt didn't say anything, just digging a small, silver canteen out of the inside of his jacket pocket. He tossed it to Mello. "That should make the hot chocolate taste better," he said, sipping from his paper cup.

Mello looked down at the container, considering for a moment before unscrewing the cap, taking a swig straight from the canteen. He replaced the cap before tossing it back to Matt. "Isn't this the part where you tell me that my life is worthwhile or some crap like that?"

Matt fiddled with the canteen. "That really what you want to hear? I'm not going to lie to your face, Mello. To be honest, I don't know a thing about you. But that doesn't mean I want to see you kill yourself."

"You're just up here because you want to get paid," Mello murmured, looking a lot younger than his 23 years in that moment.

"Trust me — the money they give me barely pays my cable bill. I'm here because I think I can help you."

"But you said…your job, to pay the bills…" Mello's gaze became appraising, perhaps really studying Matt for the first time.

The redhead just smiled, softly. "Well, I have other ways to make money. So do you. This is to look legitimate, and to do something that helps me sleep at night. You know the feeling?"

Mello frowned a little. "Not…exactly."

"You should try it sometime." Matt scooted over on the air conditioning unit, a clear invitation.

Mello, fidgeting in an agitated manner, hesitated a moment before finally giving in and moving to sit because the redhead. They drank their hot chocolate for a short while before Mello broke the silence with, "So I bet you have to go soon, you know, if I'm not going to kill myself."

Matt smiled a little, but hid it behind his cup, taking a drink before saying, "That's true. They'll want to file reports and do a lot of painful, useless stuff. But afterwards I'll probably have nothing to do."

Mello snorted. "Well don't be obvious about it or anything."

Matt outwardly smiled then. "You still want to kill yourself?"

"Nah. I just have to figure some stuff out."

They finished their hot chocolates in silence, and waited around on the roof until it became too cold to bear. Mello was not suicidal, that much was obvious to Matt. But he was lonely, and maybe a little lost. Those were things he could help with.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Something a little different that I wanted to try for today. Not sure if I like how it turned out. I'll reread it again tomorrow with fresh eyes and decide how I feel about it, haha. I hope it is of acceptable quality! See you guys tomorrow!<em>

_QOTD: What is your favorite holiday tradition? This goes for people who don't celebrate Christmas as well, whether it be Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or just something you like to do in wintertime. =)_


	7. Chapter 7

_The Waiter (Part 1)_  
><em>(AU)<em>  
><em>Words: 1,750<em>  
><em>Rated: M<em>

* * *

><p>"What'd you want Mello?" Matt didn't look at all enthusiastic to see his customer, the question sounding more like an accusation than an inquiry.<p>

Mello eyed his waiter, raising a single eyebrow. "Well someone's happy to see me," he said sarcastically.

Matt tapped his order pad with the pen he held in his left hand, rolling his eyes, not even warranting that statement with a response. The redhead looked a little more disheveled than usual. It probably had something to do with the fact that it was 3 in the morning and he was stuck serving an almost empty diner. He'd been covering on and off in the kitchen, as was evident by the grease splatters across his black apron. He looked tired and a little irked. Mello was one of three customers making the late-night trip out for something to eat.

Mello didn't take it personally, actually secretly enjoying the other man's obvious displeasure with life in general. "I'll take a coffee," Mello said, noticing that Matt wasn't bothering to write it down, "And a Reuben—"

"Without sauerkraut, yeah, yeah," Matt said, snatching the sticky, plastic coated menu from in front of Mello. Why did he even bother bringing it? Mello obviously knew what he wanted.

Mello just gave him a flirtatious grin, to which Matt rolled his eyes again, resisting the urge to flip his customer off. He went back to the kitchen, scribbling down the familiar order for the cook, an eccentric and quiet man who didn't speak all that often. (Matt thought he was Russian or something.) Matt was always forgetting the guy's real name, because it was quite a mouthful, so he and the other serves just called him L. He was weird, but made damn good food.

After handing off the order slip Matt poured a cup of regular coffee, grabbing the cream as well. He had watched Mello make his coffee many times; three creamers, two and a half packets of regular sugar. He knew it was only two and a half because Mello always propped the third packet up against the sugar caddy and used the rest if he got another cup. Matt also knew to not top off the cup until it was nearly empty, because it would screw up the creamer/sugar ratio.

He set the drink and bowl of creamers in front of Mello, who gave him a wink. Matt scoffed, but found himself blushing a little despite himself. He checked on his two other customers, an older man drinking coffee at an extraordinarily slow rate while reading a mystery novel, and a teenage boy who kept checking his cell phone and sucking on diet coke through a straw.

L was busy making the Reuben in the kitchen, so Matt wrapped some silverware at the counter while he waited for the order to be up. He kept sneaking glances at Mello, who was sipping his coffee or sneaking glances back. Whenever their eyes would meet on accident, Matt would blush furiously and purposefully look away.

Mello had been coming to the diner for a few years, but much more so in the last six months since a certain redhead started waiting tables. They didn't know much about each other; Matt knew what Mello ate, depending on the time of the day, down to the quirks; Mello knew Matt's work schedule and could tell his mood by the messiness of his hair. There was flirting and banter, but neither had made a move yet. Not like the other wouldn't be receptive, despite their sometimes fickle moods.

Matt brought Mello's Reuben and fries to the table, setting it in front of him and automatically checking the level of his coffee, calculating how much time he had until the blonde needed more. "Thanks," Mello said, looking enthusiastic about his food. Matt was about to turn and continue wrapping silverware to help the morning shift, but Mello continued with, "Ah," then hesitated. Matt wasn't used to seeing him unsure. "Today's…actually, my birthday," he said, smiling sheepishly.

Matt was taken completely off guard. "Oh, uh, happy birthday," he said, feeling the color rising in his cheeks. What a stupid thing to say, he should have thought of something better than that.

"Thanks," Mello smiled genuinely, a sight that warmed Matt in ways he didn't really want to think about. "I figured my first meal of the day should be from you guys."

Matt just nodded, wandering back toward the kitchen. His mind was racing, and he wasn't really sure why. He checked on the old man and the teenager, fixing them both up with fresh drinks before rejoining L. Matt untied his apron, setting it on the counter. A hot blush was painting his cheeks. "I'm taking a break," He announced to the other man.

The cook tilted his head to the side slightly, fathomless eyes appraising Matt. He smiled, just a little, and then nodded wordlessly.

Matt couldn't believe what he was about to do. He walked back to Mello's table, forcing his feet to keep moving even though his mind screamed that this was a horrible, horrible idea. He reached the blonde, who looked up from his sandwich with a questioning look; clearly he also calculated Matt's return time to bring coffee and didn't expect to see him so soon. Seeing the lack of apron and coffee pot, he raised an eyebrow.

"I'm going to give you a present," Matt announced, secretly thankful that Mello had chosen the booth toward the back of the restaurant. The redhead gripped the edge of the table. "Just-just don't _say_ anything."

The blonde's curious look became full surprise when Matt, in a smooth motion, disappeared under the table. The hand on his thigh made Mello jump a little, looking down at his own lap in surprise. "What are you—"

"I said don't say anything!" Matt hissed. "Now eat your damn sandwich."

Despite himself, Mello felt his cheeks warming and the blood rushing south. It was hard to ignore the hands deftly unfastening his jeans. "You are not…doing what I think you're doing," Mello said, mentally cursing himself for sounding breathless.

"I said, _eat the damn sandwich_." Matt gave him a pinch on the leg as punishment before continuing with his previous plan.

Mello swallowed hard, adjusting himself in the seat. He leaned his elbows on the table, picking up the sandwich as instructed and taking a bite. He had to resist a shiver when the cool air of the restaurant hit his exposed skin, but the presence of warm hands was already making his flesh swell and harden. If anything, being in the diner with other people around was turning him on even more — there had to be something wrong with him.

When moist lips touched the head of his erection, Mello sucked in a harsh breath. His hips shifted restlessly on the seat, inching closer to the redhead kneeling between his legs under the table. Matt gave him another warning squeeze on the top of his thigh, and Mello forced himself to take another bite of his sandwich.

Those lips, warm and wet, started to trail heated kisses down the length of him. Mello really wanted to fist his fingers into that messy red hair and watch Matt work, but their current position seriously restricted his view. Mello licked his own lips, trying to focus on controlling his breathing. He mechanically ate some French fries, just to please Matt, but the food wasn't settling well with his coiling stomach muscles.

Matt wasn't rushing, instead taking his time exploring the hot skin of Mello's manhood. He tested and teased, licking like a kitten and sucking tenderly at the underside. Mello was going to lose it if they kept this up much longer. Every time he started to shift too restlessly or forgot to continue eating, Matt would squeeze his leg. Unfortunately this caused the opposite of the desired effect, because it made Mello that much more desperate.

Mello found himself biting his knuckle or gritting his teeth to keep from making any sounds. Sometimes a whimper would slip out — an aborted moan. God, how badly he wanted to see that mouth — those lips! — and that cutely tousled hair. Finally he couldn't take it anymore, slipping one hand under the tabletop and blindly finding Matt's head. His fingers threaded into the thick locks, earning him a soft, vibrating purr from the lips pressed against the side of his erection. It was a miracle Mello didn't throw his head back and moan for the whole diner to hear.

Then Matt, the merciless bastard, started _sucking_. Full on, down the throat, sinful tongue, sucking. It was like Mello had never had a blow job in his life because he swore, he'd never felt this close to losing his mind before. His fingers tightened in the redhead's hair, his breathing ragged now. He couldn't even hide it if he wanted to.

It only took a few minutes of that treatment before Mello's hips were pressing up urgently, desperately trying not to cry out. Then he was coming and all that work to stay quiet was all for naught because he threw his head back and groaned like it was the best fucking moment of his life. It felt as though everything Matt had wound tight in him — not just that night, but every night for six months — was unraveling. The tension was draining out of his body, emptying into Matt's waiting mouth in pulses of pleasure. Mello was left panting, faintly sweaty, exhausted and undeniably happy.

Matt tenderly kissed the softening flesh, tucking him back into his pants with care. Mello cringed in a disconnected sort of way, still sensitive and sticky. Matt clambered out from under the table, his cheeks painted with high spots of color. Mello couldn't look away from his lips, swollen, red, and visibly moist. Matt licked them self-consciously under Mello's gaze.

"You owe me a damn good tip for that," Matt said, rubbing his aching jaw, but his smiling shyly.

Mello breathed a laugh, reaching up to grab the collar of Matt's shirt. He pulled the redhead down for a soft kiss. "When do you get off of work?" he breathed, strangely excited by the taste of himself on the other man's lips.

"Five," Matt said, blush darkening.

"I'll wait until then to give you your tip," Mello smiled.

* * *

><p><em>AN: When I have a story in parts, the installments may or may not appear on consecutive days. It depends on my mood and the response I get. =P This was a fun one! Review with your thoughts and we'll see what you get for advent tomorrow!<em>

_I loved hearing about all your holiday traditions! So many fun and interesting things. =) Hearing form you guys just makes my day!  
>QOTD: What's the best thing to do when it's snowing outside?<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_The Cat_  
><em>Words: 1,225<em>  
><em>Rated: T<em>

* * *

><p>When the door to the apartment swung open, Mello was greeting with a most unusual sight. The usually empty square of questionably clean tile floor that made up the entryway was filled with a kitten. It sat in a patient manner, looking up at Mello with large, unblinking green eyes. Mello stopped, meeting the gaze of the cat apprehensively. It gave a hoarse little meow.<p>

Mello really shouldn't be surprised. Whenever he and Matt had a fight, the redhead did something stupid. There was the blue hair incident. Then there was the time that Matt thought it would be a great idea to wear Mello's pants, which he had to consequently be cut out of. Then there was the time that he set the dumpster in the back of the apartment on fire "by accident." In the long list of idiotic things Matt had done, stealing what was probably some little girl's kitten was not all that bad. So Mello wasn't surprised, but the way the animal was looking at him was a bit unnerving. It was like it _wanted_ something from him.

Mello sidestepped the animal, which he noticed was wearing a dainty black collar. With a bell on it. A freaking bell! Who puts a bell on a cat?

As he passed by the kitchen, he saw a plastic bag from PetSmart on the counter. Fuck, that probably meant Matt _bought_ the collar.

Mello continued further into the apartment, trying to cool his rising anger. The kitten was dancing around his feet and he kept thinking he was about to step on it. Matt was exactly where Mello expected him to be: at his computer. "Matt," Mello said, mentally applauding himself for sounding so calm. "Is there someone you'd like to tell me?"

Matt continued typing, not even looking away from the screen as he said, "Not really. Why?"

Oh, so that was his game. Mello grit his teeth. "There is an…an _animal_ in our apartment."

"What are you talking about?" Matt turned in his swivel chair, a genuinely confused expression his face. Then his gaze landed on the kitten attacking Mello's shoelaces. "Oh, you mean the cat?"

Mello's temper was rising. "Yes Matt," he said through his teeth, "The cat."

"What about it?" Completely innocent sounding, like he hadn't done anything wrong. Like this wasn't a cry for attention or a subtle get-back technique.

"You can't just bring a cat into the apartment without asking me. Animals hate me."

"The cat doesn't hate you," Matt pointed out. The cat did indeed seem to have a strong affection for his shoelaces. Although the thing was jingling every time it moved. It was grating on Mello's nerves.

"You take your cat, and put it back where you found it."

Matt looked stricken. "It's not mine. I can't put it back, it just followed me here."

"Then put it back outside! And why the fuck did you go to PetSmart if it isn't your cat?"

"Because it was just a few blocks away and it looked hungry! And if I was going to get some food, I should get a collar. It looks good, right?"

Mello wouldn't be surprised if there was steam coming out of his ears. He looked down at the cat, with its black, jingly collar. He forced himself to take a calming breath, then said, "It looks stupid in black. You should have gotten green, then it would match its eyes."

There was a brief pause before Matt smiled slyly, "I think that was the gayest thing you've ever said. Hold on, I need to write that down." He started rummaging around his desk, presumably for paper.

Mello lost it. "Get rid of the fucking cat! I know you're just angry about earlier," He growled under his breath, "But you don't have to punish me by getting a stupid pet that you can't even take care of."

"I'm not angry about earlier," Matt said decisively, although he addressed the statement to the wall above Mello's head.

Mello sighed, walking over to the couch adjacent to Matt's work desk, sitting down. The kitten promptly joined him. Mello wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, whether he should push the thing off or not, but the kitten knew exactly what it wanted. It climbed onto Mello's lap without delay, and then head butted the man's hand. Hesitantly Mello began to pet the thing.

"Petting a cat lowers blood pressure," Matt said, voice soft. He was compulsively straightening a stack of papers so he wouldn't have to look at Mello. "I read an article about it online. It was from some girly talk show, but I checked, and there seems to be legitimate research behind the findings—"

"Matt—"

"—I think it was conducted in New England though, so the humidity levels may have had something to do with the data and the study could be flawed. I was looking for a similar study done in drier climates, but I haven't been able to find one yet—"

"Matt—"

"—So I looked at some research done with horses, and I thought that might be similar, but of course we can't have a horse, because we live in an apartment, but we can have a cat—"

"Matt!" Finally he startled the redhead into stopping a taking a breath. He looked at Mello, bewildered, as if just now realizing he was talking to another human being. Mello sighed. "I guess, if you want, we can keep the cat." Matt's face lit up with a smile that warmed Mello's heart a little. He continued, "But that doesn't change what we talked about this morning."

Matt deflated. "Yeah, I figured it wouldn't," he murmured. "You're kind of difficult to persuade, you're such a stubborn bastard," but it was said with affection.

"I don't want you to get hurt Matt," Mello said with such seriousness, forcing eye contact that Matt seemed to be trying his hardest to avoid.

"So you're allowed to be in danger and I'm not? That's not fair."  
>"I'm not having this conversation with you again," Mello growled. The kitten reminded him of its presence, head butting his hand again for attention. He resumed scratching behind its ears mechanically, but irritably enough, it calmed him a little. "What's its name?"<p>

"What's name?" Matt asked, obviously sulking.

"The cat, imbecile."

"Oh, I don't know," Matt shrugged, "I've just been calling it Cat."

"You're horrible at owning pets," Mello rolled his eyes.

"Well it seems to like you," Matt offered.

"Yes, it takes after you in that way. Completely idiotic with misplaced, unearned loyalty."

Matt just smiled slightly, but after a moment of silence he sobered. "So you'll be careful, won't you?"

"I'm always careful," Matt raised a skeptical eyebrow at that, but Mello continued, "I mean, someone has to come back here and make sure you don't kill the cat on accident."

"I would never do such a thing. I've managed to keep myself alive for practically 20 years."

"Well if that's the case," Mello scratched the cat affectionately behind the ears, "Then someone has to buy Cat some more fashionable accessories."

"I take it back: That was the gayest thing I've ever heard you say."

Mello probably would have strangled Matt if he didn't like having him around so much.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Cat makes his return! Something a little fluffy, a little silly, and just a tad serious to get everyone through the day. I'm sorry I missed two days this week! I feel awful about it, but between getting sick and taking two of my finals, I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed. Hopefully this helps you all forgive me. =D Happy December 16, see you again tomorrow!<em>

_QOTD: What's the best way to spend school breaks?_


	9. Chapter 9

_The Sound  
><em>_(AU)_  
><em>Words: 1,875<em>  
><em>Rated: T<em>

* * *

><p>In a world without sound, Mello is <em>loud<em>. Maybe that's why I've always been so drawn to him. His very presence is welcome white noise, nails on a chalk board, wind through leaves, cars on asphalt. Everything that I miss, every day of my life, he is.

It's hard to explain to people who can hear. I'll try though, because I know how you feel; I could hear once too. But here it goes: Every person who I meet has a sort of signature. Not the kind you sign on a credit card slip, but the kind that you feel in the air. It's colors and vibrations and with Mello it's _noisy_. No one else's presence screams to me like his does.

I don't know when this started exactly, because we've been next door neighbors for forever. At age six, fate tied us together and decided that we would not just live in neighboring houses, but that our second story bedroom windows would face each other. At age six I could still hear, but that was ten years ago. At the time I didn't realize that my Dad's job transfer was the most important event in my life because it placed me right next to the boy I'd fall in love with. Not that he knows that, but it doesn't change the facts.

At six years old we were friends. We were on the same tee ball team, and we rode our bikes up and down the street after dinner. At age seven, when the world went quiet, Mello was the only one who didn't seem intimidated by my difficulty communicating. I'd always been shy, I guess, so when you suddenly can't understand what people are saying, it's easy to become even more introverted. But Mello was there. A seven year old, who could have been playing kickball and teasing girls, was with me at my sign language classes.

Things are better now than when I first went deaf. I'm back in public school, a necessary step to "get me out of my shell." It didn't work all that well, because my only real friend is still Mello. But I can read lips, and my teachers make copies of their lessons for me in advance. I have a special tutor who knows sign language and helps me pass my classes. I don't mind high school, and it certainly could be a lot worse.

For the last ten years I've kept my bedroom curtains open almost all the time. I'm lying on my stomach on my bed now, reading _Beowulf_ for English class on Monday. I don't see Mello enter his room across the space between our windows so much as sense it, and I glance up from the page I'm skimming. Mello is in the process of slamming his bedroom door shut, yelling words I can't hear. I prefer not to read people's lips when they aren't talking to me; it feels like an invasion of privacy for some reason. Like they expect me to not know what they're saying when they're not talking to me, so actually knowing what they said is overstepping some unspoken boundary. Force of habit, I guess.

I focus on Mello's body language instead, which is all rigid and angry. Mello never hides what he's feeling. It's refreshing. I cringe a little, though, when he picks up something off his desk and throws it against the wall. It was his pencil holder, because I see pencils go scattering around the room.

I scoot off the bed, abandoning my book to instead grab the yellow legal notepad that I keep by the window; I buy them in bulk, so it's only like 75 cents a pad. I sit down on the edge of the bed again after I grab a sharpie — also bought in bulk.

Mello is doing something similar across the way in his bedroom. He's already seen me, and knows what I'm doing. I pull off the sharpie cap with my teeth, scribbling, 'Is everything okay?' and holding up the pad of paper for him to see.

Mello grimaces, writing his reply. I can always tell Mello's tone by the way he writes and holds up the paper; it's like reading inflections in a person's voice. When Mello all but slams the paper against the window, his bold writing saying, 'Shit's fucked up,' it's his writing equivalent of yelling.

I flip to the next page, writing in clear, slanted script, 'Want to get out?' When I hold up the paper he just nods, already getting to his feet. He holds up ten fingers, telling me in our own language that he'll be ten minutes. I just half wave to let him know I saw, and I look around for my shoes. I pull the worn converse sneakers on, then go to the side of my bed and lift up the mattress. Underneath is a stash of cigarettes I've been pilfering from my father's packs for ages. He started smoking just after I lost my hearing. I started smoking about a year after he did.

I grab the notepad and some extra sharpies, pulling on my jacket before heading downstairs. My parents aren't even home — it's Friday night, they have lives, I guess — so I just head for the backdoor.

Mello meets me outside just a few minutes later. It's cold, but not so cold that we want to go inside, even if my house is empty. He doesn't sign anything to me, even though he could if he wanted to. We just start walking, already knowing where we're going. The old field two streets over used to be a baseball diamond, but in the last decade it hasn't been used. We sit with our backs against the chain link fence, hips almost touching.

I hand him the paper and while he starts writing I get out the cigarettes. We could use sign language — hell, he's one of the few people in my life who actually bothered to learn it. But I think we like this better. I light up, taking a deep drag and exhaling into the cool night air. The streetlight a ways away casts a dim enough illumination over us that I can see his concentrated features as he writes. I don't read what he's writing until he hands it back; I ignore the parts that are scratched out.

He takes the lit cigarette that I offer him, dragging. I try not to think too hard about how his lips are where my lips were just a second ago. I focus on his scrawl instead, so familiar to me after all these years. It says, 'I told my parents tonight,' and my heart aches a little at that, because I understand his pain even if I haven't had the same courage to talk to my parents. 'They flipped out. Dad said he doesn't want a fag for a son. My Mom wouldn't even look me in the eye. Dad said I should have waited until after Christmas to ruin fucking everyone's life, so at least they could have enjoyed the holiday without thinking about how much of a disappointment I am.'

He gives me back the cigarette, which I accept gratefully. After a moment's hesitation, I write underneath his words, 'Do you need to stay at my house?' because I'm a fucking awful friend and I can't think of anything better to help him.

He smiles weakly when he reads that over my shoulder, shaking his head no. "But thanks," he speaks for the first time, and I read the words on his lips. If there's anything good about being deaf, it's that it gives me a legitimate excuse to stare at Mello's mouth.

I just shrug, handing him back the cigarette, not even realizing I hadn't taken my drag until he laughs at me. It's a beautiful sight, when his lips curl up and I can almost, just almost hear the sound of his laughter. I bet it's amazing.

He takes his drag anyways, then grabs hold of my chin and pulls me closer. I lean into him, the color rising in my cheeks. Thank God it's dark outside. I already know what he's going to do, so I part my lips, trying to keep my breathing steady as he blows smoke into my mouth. And you wonder why I'm in love with him.

We part, my cheeks still flaming. We hadn't done that in a while. Usually cigarettes are just passed between us; the last time we shared smoke like that was when Mello got some weed from a guy at school. We don't do drugs, not really, but we tried it a few times just to say we had.

After exhaling the smoke that had been intimately nestled inside Mello's lungs, I take the cigarette from him. It's almost burned down to the filter, so I take the final drag and crush it into the dirt on my far side. Holding the smoke in my lungs burns, but I lean into him and he meets me halfway. This time I get to breathe into his mouth.

It was so much easier when we were high. First of all, I didn't have to think about it then. It just sort of happened. But here, when we're sober and it's dark and we're alone, it feels a lot more intimate. Maybe it has something to do with what Mello told his parents, too.

We go through another cigarette after that, taking turns, keeping the smoke to ourselves this time. We don't say anything, with words or letters or hands. It's quiet, as always, but I feel so right there with my hip pressed against his. I don't know when we shifted closer, but we did. I bite my lower lip, thinking for a long while.

Finally I pick up the pad of paper, my hand hovering over the sheet for a long while. I start writing, slowly and with measured strokes, 'I think…' but I scratch that out. To say 'I think' implies doubt, and I have none. Mello is watching the words as I form them on the paper, not rushing me. Still, I can feel his gaze on my hand, like he's waiting for its next move. I swallow, and he probably hears it. It _felt_ loud, anyways. I mentally steel myself and write in careful script, 'I love you,' and I hand it to him before I can change my mind.

Mello looks at the paper, with all our scribbled sentences, scratched out misspellings and misthoughts, and just stares at it for a long moment. After what feels like an eternity he plucks the pen from my hand, writing quickly and handing the legal pad back to me. It says, simply, 'Took you long enough,' and then he smiles.

Despite my blushing, I'm smiling too. And when he kisses me it feels like we've done it a million times before in a thousand different lifetimes. And it doesn't matter that I can't hear him whisper my name or the rustling as he pushes my jacket off my shoulders because Mello is the loudest person I know, and I hear everything he's telling me.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This one warmed my heart. =D I hope it gave you a little smile too! Wednesday is my last final, then I'm done until the end of January! I'll try to post again tomorrow, but I won't promise anything. Studying has been a bear. Thank goodness the end is in sight! You all have been so patient and kind. =D Thank you for everything, you make my holiday season so much brighter and encourage me to do the things I love. You guys are the best! <em>

_QOTD: How do you imagine the Wammy kids celebrated the holidays?_


	10. Chapter 10

_The Wolf_  
><em>(AU)<em>  
><em>Words: 2,500<em>  
><em>Rated: T<em>

* * *

><p>I don't know why I let them convince me that this was a good idea. I have nothing to prove, no one to impress. But here I am, tromping through the woods and it's starting to get dark. And it's fucking freezing. I'm an idiot.<p>

I blame Near, the little jackass. When he casually suggested that I wouldn't be able to catch dinner for our little camping group — that I didn't have the _skill_ or the _experience_ — I had to prove him wrong. Okay, so maybe I _do_ have something to prove, so sue me.

I also blame Misa, for freaking me out. "Mello you'll get lost and freeze to death!" She said in her shrill, worried voice. Of course I would have been paying better attention to where I was going, if she hadn't gotten me so worked up and worried that I might get lost or eaten by bears or frozen in a block of ice or break my ankle or my _other_ ankle or _something_. For Christ's sake, that girl needs to shut the hell up. I don't even know why she's _here_. It's a camping trip! There's dirt! What an unnatural state for her to be in.

So I started out heading for the river. My intention was to get some fish that we could cook on the campfire. It would be impressive and fucking manly. We have been hiking for two days already, and tomorrow is our last day. This is my only chance to prove myself to be superior in outdoorsy-ness. I started out very sure of where the river was. But then, because it's late in the winter and I don't have a strong sense of direction, it started to get darker and the shadows were changing. And I might have gotten a bit turned around.

So here I am, climbing over logs and rocks and ducking under low branches, trying to find the camp or the river — either would be great at this point, fish or no. The sun being so low is also not helping the chill in the air. Back at the tents I have a sleeping bag that's good for temperatures as low as negative 25 degrees. Out here, I just have my down jacket, gloves and hat. For sitting around next to the fire it's perfect attire, but out here, I'm starting to get really fucking cold.

I half stumble over a root when I hear the first howl. It raises the hair on the back of my neck, a shiver running the length of my body that has nothing to do with the cold. Long dormant survival instincts prickle to the surface, flashing 'Danger, Danger.' There are no wolves in this forest. Grizzly bears, sure, so I have enough to worry about. But no wolves. So there should be no howling. It's probably someone's dog, I tell myself, even though I know I'm lying.

I keep walking, my pace a little quicker now. Once it's totally dark I'm screwed. I can barely navigate this place in the daylight. I should have taken the satellite phone with me, but that would have been admitting that I might get lost or screw up my one chance at being manly.

I wonder what they're doing back at camp. Light is probably reassuring Misa that her hair looks fine, even though we haven't had a proper shower in two days. Near is probably trying to engage L in some sort of conversation, which will end disastrously. God knows what Mikami is doing.

The second howl is so much closer than the first that I startle and trip over my own feet. I hit the ground with my hands and knees, pine needles cushioning the impact. I'm breathing unevenly, ears straining, picking up every rustle of leaves from wind and birds and every soft shuffle of rabbits feet. The noises all kind of run together, overwhelmed by the pounding of my heart. A resting heart rate should be 60 beats per minute. Mine is more like 90. There must be something medically wrong with me.

I scramble back to my feet, not knowing how long I stayed on the ground like that. I feel vulnerable and exposed. I rub the palms of my gloves together to get rid of the pine needles that are stuck there, and then keep walking. Quickly.

Before long it's dark. Not, "I stubbed my toe on the way to the bathroom" dark, but "I can barely see my hand in front of my face" dark. There is no moon. My only help is the stars, which are much brighter here in the wilderness than in the city. They don't help enough though. I can only make out the general shapes of trees and bushes; I can't see where I'm placing my feet anymore when I walk.

I've started jumping at every sound. Do you know that feeling, after you've had a nightmare and you're lying in bed trying to will yourself back to sleep? But you can't, because you're convinced that there's a man crouched at the side of your bed with a knife about to slit your throat. So you're lying there, stiff as a board, listening for his breathing. And if you listen hard enough, you can hear it, because holy fucking God, you know he's there. This is exactly like that, because I'm hearing rustling and footfalls that aren't my own. There hasn't been a howl for at least an hour — maybe longer. I don't have my watch and I don't know what time it is.

I'm so cold, and I keep tripping. I blame it half on blindness and half on my limbs starting to go numb. After God knows how long of wandering around in circles and getting myself even more hopelessly lost, I finally stop. I'm not going to find the camp tonight, I decide. It would be smarter for me to stop, rest, and wait for the sun to rise.

I pick a tree — they're all the same at this point — and hunker down. I didn't think it would be this cold. I'm shivering, so I huddle down further into my warm jacket, arms wrapped around my own middle. My legs are aching, muscles sore from walking and the cold. I thought I'd be awake for hours, but before I can so much as blink, I'm asleep.

I wake up with something wet touching my neck. It's not a totally unpleasant feeling; it's a warm sort of wetness, nuzzling around my collarbone. That's not really what wakes me up, though. I'm surprisingly warm, but that warmth is coming from the humungous weight on my chest. And I'm not talking metaphorically here, there is literally an elephant stepping on my chest. Or at least, that's what I think when I'm starting to wake up.

My gritty eyes blink open slowly, having trouble focusing. The sky above me is just starting to turn grey with the first streaks of morning. The insistent wetness at my neck shoves my head further back, and my eyes widen as I take in the thick auburn fur right in front of my face. The beast sniffs, a long, loud sound, and I totally stop breathing. The wetness before is joined by a warm, thick tongue that starts lavishing the skin of my neck.

Holy fucking Christ, there's a wolf on my chest. A huge, 100-something pound wild animal is lying on my chest, nuzzling its way down in my jacket collar and _licking_ my _neck_. I wheeze a nervous breath. Oh God, it's probably smelling me like a buffet. Picking which artery to sever with its fangs.

I shift myself slowly, carefully, thinking that maybe I can scoot out from under it. Once I start to gather my arm on the ground beside me to shove up, the beast growls, a deep, low sound that I feel in its entire body; it vibrates against my chest, and puffs warm air against my moist neck. I whimper.

Its head pulls up from my neck then, looking down into my face. It stares at me with perfectly intelligent, jade green eyes. My breath is catching again, and I wish I could blame the huge wolf sprawled over my chest for that. Its expression is incredulous and unamused — fucking hell, I just gave an animal human emotion. I think there's a word for that, but I can't remember it right now because I'm having a staring contest with the wolf that's about to kill me. It huffs, the air blowing into my face and I resist a cringe. I can practically hear it saying, 'Stop wiggling.'

It resumes its earlier investigations of my neck, much to my horror. Its tongue is warm and wet, and, weirdly, has me shivering all over again. When I feel the faint scrape of teeth I almost scream — but for some reason I don't. I go perfectly still, the wolf holding me with its weight and one large paw pressed into my shoulder. Its teeth scrape again, faint and almost tickling. I know it could kill me in a heartbeat.

Then it pulls back up to look down into my face. We stare into each other's eyes for a moment before it decides to taste — or clean, or whatever — the rest of my exposed skin. It starts licking my cheeks and nuzzling at my cap to push it up and lap at the shell of my ear.

My breathing is uneven, and I don't even know the real reason anymore. I'm starting to feel some embarrassingly inappropriate emotions. "P-please stop," I say aloud.

Miraculously, it does. The animal pushes itself back up to its feet, getting off me to instead sit at my side. Its tail is lazily swishing back and forth, kind of like a dog. It's watching me to see what I'll do next.

Slowly I push myself up into a sitting position, eyeing the wolf. It's average in size, not the gigantic beast I first assumed it to be. In my defense, it seemed a whole lot bigger when it was on top of me. Its fur is shiny, reflecting reds and golds in the early morning light. I just stare at it for a long moment before the wolf grows bored, leaning down to sniff my hand.

Cautiously I turn my gloved palm upward, which seems to please the animal immensely. It nuzzles against my hand, rubbing against it. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm petting it. It's surreal, really, but there it is. My hand is buried in its thick fur, scratching around its ears and neck.

The first time it makes a soft growling noise I think its upset, but then I realize the growl is not a warning sound like before, but a sort of pleasured rumble. I continue my ministrations, eventually removing my gloves to feel the silky fur. Wolves don't look this clean and beautiful in the wild, do they? Maybe it is someone's dog, and it just _looks_ like a wolf. For some reason I doubt that.

"I have to find my friends," I find myself saying eventually. Everyone at camp must be worried about me; I was gone all night. I don't want them to make a search party or something equally embarrassing.

The wolf whines, like it knows exactly what the words mean and the implication behind them — that I have to leave him. And I know it's a him. Not that I looked — Jesus, don't be gross — I just kind of know.

He starts licking my face with enthusiasm, and with an '_Oof_,' I fall back against the ground. He resumes licking my neck, with more fervor than last time. Weirdly, I have no fear by now. I trust him to lick, nuzzle and bite without doing anything drastic. I don't know how, but I just know he won't hurt me. He's told me that much.

"Please," I whisper, my fingers curling into the scruff of his neck. His weight presses down against me. "You have to let me go find them…I can't stay out here."

He nips at my neck — still not breaking the skin — and then pulls back, climbing off of me. He shakes himself, his auburn fur practically glistening. I wonder if wolves are normally this color. I reluctantly get to my feet. My stomach twists with emptiness, and I sway momentarily before catching my balance. I didn't even have dinner last night. I search my pockets, finding a package of crackers and tearing it open before replacing my gloves.

I'm about to take a bite before I pause. The wolf is looking up at me curiously. "Do you want some?" I ask hesitantly. He makes a gruff, disgusted sound in response, turning to start trotting away.

I feel a little loss at that, but sigh, looking up at the sky to figure out which direction I need to go. Then there are teeth in my jacket sleeve, tugging me. I stumble forward a few steps, eyes wide. The wolf is looking at me like I'm stupid. I must be, because I don't get it. He turns, walking a purposeful two steps before turning to look over his shoulder at me. I catch the hint, following his lead. I'm fucking nuts, that's what I am.

I eat my crackers while we walk. The wolf picks his path carefully, one that I'm strangely enough able to follow with no problems. He walks at a pace that isn't too strenuous for me to follow. We're walking for about an hour before the wolf slows, sitting down purposefully and looking at a thick set of bushes. I hesitate, then step forward to pull back some of the leaves. And there is the campground. Not my lot, specifically, but I know just where we are.

I turn back to the wolf, who is still sitting there watching at me. He looks sad. I try to smile, and his tail gives a little shake, like an aborted wag. After a moment he walks toward me, and I pull off my glove when he nuzzles my hand. After letting him lick my fingers, I scratch behind his ears. His rumble of happiness makes my heart stir.

"I know you can't come with me…" I whisper, not knowing why a lump is forming in my throat.

The wolf huffs softly, going back to licking my fingers. I crouch down, and he takes this as an invitation to lick under my jacket collar and at my neck. "Maybe…" I hear myself saying, fingers fisting into his thick fur. "Maybe I can see you later, when we camp again…" It's a stupid thought. He's a wolf. A fucking wild animal. But…he's not. I know he's not, this whole morning has proved that.

The low growl he gives is an affirmative — I don't know how I know, but it is. I've never felt happier.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Eep, I haven't been adventing like I'm supposed to! Sorry guys! My semester is officially over so I'm getting used to the new schedule at work and home. I'm just feeling a bit crazy at the moment. xD Writing has been harder than I expected. I'm getting back in the swing of it though. =) This chapter was fun, I want to do more in this universe if people like it! Matt's true nature is a question indeed. ;D Review to tell me what you think! Thanks for all the support guys! Merry Christmas Eve if it's already Saturday where you are!<em>

_QOTD: What is the greatest Christmas movie of all time?_


End file.
